


The Best Present is One You Share

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Licking, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt: "Licking/oral fixation"</p><p>I was a bit stuck until I threw in the piercings. Other than that? Porn. Just porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Present is One You Share

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed. There was a lot of depressing fic in the C/C tag and I just had to throw some porn in there to alleviate it.

There are a number of habits that Phil has trained himself out of in the name of presenting an unreadable facade to junior SHIELD agents and SHIELD opponents alike. Touching his face. Adjusting his tie or suit. Tapping his fingers. These have ceased to be unconscious ticks and become tools instead, deployed for specific effect. Of them all, there's only one he still indulges in for its own sake, and that is what he admits is a bit of an oral fixation.

It's little things, mostly. Holding the cap of a pen between his teeth as he works, tongue sliding over to touch the end every now and then. Eating snacks just so he can lick his fingers. Sucking on mints or throat lozenges, rolling them over and over in his mouth. He likes how it feels, likes filling the space. He said that to Clint, once, and Clint had laughed and pulled him into a kiss and said, "I can tell." Phil would have rolled his eyes, except that he likes using his mouth on Clint just as much as Clint is implying.

The memory makes Phil's mouth water, and he takes the pen cap from between his lips to swallow, looking over the coffee table he's been hunched over at Clint, asleep on the couch across from Phil. Clint had been there when Phil woke up this morning, finally home after two months on a field op. Phil has told him a hundred times that he doesn't mind Clint waking him up when he comes home, but it has yet to stop Clint from sacking out on the couch, if it's late, instead of coming to bed.

The op must have gone well, because Clint looks good. No bags under his eyes, no bandages peeking out from under his clothing, no restless twitches that hint at new nightmares. Just Clint, rumpled and half falling off the couch in his sleep. His mouth is relaxed, soft. Phil wants to run his tongue along the seam of his lips, wants to pull the lush lower one into his mouth and suck on it. Two months is far too long to go without kissing Clint.

"Hey." 

Phil blinks and looks away from Clint's lips--curving into a smile, now--to find his eyes open. "Hey," Phil murmurs. "Op go okay?"

"Smooth as silk," Clint says. He levers himself up into a sitting position and stretches, arms raised over his head, for a long moment. Phil can't take his eyes off the line of his throat and the firm curve of his biceps. When Clint finishes the stretch, his starts toying with the hem of his shirt. "I, uh, got you a present," he says, almost shy.

"On an op?" Phil asks, surprised.

"Just before, actually. But it, ah, needed the time to be ready for you." Clint blushes, and Phil's curiosity sharpens. "You want to see?"

"Please," Phil says, scooting forward on the couch and dropping his pen on the coffee table.

Clint takes a breath, and then he grips the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head. Phil sweeps an appreciative gaze over familiar skin and then freezes when he catches a glint of gold. Clint has had his nipples pierced. They're standing up tight and pebbled and a gold hoop is threaded through each one. Phil's mouth goes dry. He can't seem to form words.

"I know you like, you know, sucking them," Clint stumbles over the words a bit. "I thought you might like something to play with." He pauses, reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck. "Listen, if you don't like it, I'll take them out and the holes will grow over pretty quick."

"No," Phil blurts, and scrambles over the coffee table and into Clint's lap. "Don't." He kisses Clint quickly, to reassure him, and then drops down to kneel on the floor. He only has to lean up a little, his hands on Clint's knees, to get his mouth on Clint's left nipple. The tender, pebbled skin is familiar under his tongue, but the smooth metal curve of the hoop is deliciously new. Phil moans at the contrast in textures and slides his tongue under the hoop, lifting it and curling his tongue into the center.

"I guess you like them," Clint says breathlessly. Phil tugs on the ring with his tongue and Clint moans, his hand coming up to hang onto the back of Phil's neck. "'S good," he slurs.

Phil hums in satisfaction and sucks, drawing the ring between his lips. He can feel Clint's groan in his lips and God, that's good. Clint's nipples were never particularly sensitive before, but it's clear that the piercings changed that. Phil closes his eyes and explores the loop of metal and the sensitive skin of Clint's nipple with his tongue, gentle except for the fact that he's got the unyielding metal between his teeth, and he's sure, from the hitches in Clint's breath, that he can feel echoes of the pressure. Slowly, Phil pulls back, still holding the ring, and Clint's nipple stretches.

"Oh God," Clint gasps, his hand tightening on the back of Phil's neck. Phil gives him one last, quick lick, and lets go. Clint lets out a high, tight noise as the piercing falls from Phil's lips and tugs on his nipple even as it relaxes from the stretch. It's a little swollen from the play, enough to make Phil lave it with the flat of his tongue--which draws another moan from Clint--but he's quick.

There is, after all, a whole other nipple in need of attention.

Phil pauses before this one and breathes out slowly, letting his breath bathe the sensitive skin. He watches as it tightens further, drawing the ring with it, and moans even as he leans in eagerly to suck it into his mouth. The ring is warm from Clint's skin, smooth and hard and heavy enough to be a tangible, if slight, weight on Phil's tongue. He lets it slide through his lips, then quickly licks it up into his mouth again.

"Phil," Clint groans, his knee shifting under Phil's hand. "Jesus. I thought this was a present for you, not for me."

Teasingly, Phil let the ring slip from his tongue. "Believe me," he says, and God, his voice is rougher than he expected, "I'm very much enjoying my present." He's hard, pressing against the fabric of his pants, but he leans in to lick Clint's nipple instead of reaching down to touch himself. He doesn't want to be distracted from the play of textures under his tongue, the way the ring moves, the way it feels against lips and tongue and teeth. 

Phil toys with the piercings until Clint's reduced to gasping sharp _oh_ s of pleasure, and then he moves down and opens Clint's pants and sucks down his cock instead. "Fuck!" Clint shouts, hips arching up, but Phil is ready for him, rides the movement out easily and wraps a hand around the shaft and goes to work on the head, curling his tongue around it even as he sucks, flicking the tip of his tongue against the sensitive spot just under the crown. Clint's thighs are trembling, he's so close. It doesn't take long at all for him to groan and come into Phil's mouth.

As close as Phil's been riding the crest of arousal, tasting Clint is almost enough to undo him. He rests his head on Clint's knee and slides his hand into his own pants and oh, fuck, that's good. He groans, hips working into his hand and he's almost there, but not quite, not quite.

"C'mere." Clint's voice is hoarse and he's tugging on Phil's arm. Phil climbs up into his lap and lets Clint take over stroking his cock so that Phil can kiss him, deep and messy, all tongue and teeth. His orgasm, when it comes, rolls through him like a wave and he sighs his satisfaction into Clint's mouth before slumping against him, spent.

"Note to self," Clint says lazily, running a hand down Phil's back, "piercings are good."

Phil chuckles. "Very good. Thank you."

~!~


End file.
